


I Will Look Him in the Eye, Standing in the Fire

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bodyswap, Crowley is having a moment here, Fire, Flashbacks, Gen, Whumptober 2019, attempted execution, the Trial in Heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 18:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crowley knew, logically, that taking Aziraphale's place in heaven for his trial would likely end with him in Hellfire. It was the reason for the switch after all.He could survive the flames even if they burned him with recent memories he'd rather forget.





	I Will Look Him in the Eye, Standing in the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, it's Whumptober time and I've been dragged kicking and screaming into Good Omens but I can't say I regret it. Either way prompt #1! Shaky hands!

Crowley doesn't have much time to get used to Aziraphale's body, but he has long ago memorized the way his angel moved. It is odd being the shorter one for once but not something he would allow to throw him off his game. He tires to remember the proper proportions of his body as he is marched through heaven but other then his body being slightly off, he plays the part of a nervous, overly-proper, angel quite easily. 

He offers small pleasantries and stammers through his inquiries as if he doesn't know exactly why he is being dragged to the highest floor in heaven by two stone faced angels. It makes his serpentine blood boil that they treat 'Aziraphale' with such disdain, as if he isn't the best of them, as if his angel hadn't stood up and lied to all of the hosts of heaven for humanity. Crowley likes to lump himself in with the rest of humanity, hoping he could be included as a reason Aziraphale finally stood up to Gabriel and heaven. 

Being forced into a chair in the middle of the sterile room woke him out of his daydreams, and the tightening of simple rope around his wrists brought him back to the present. The angels left him and he let them, without a quip or smart word because all his angel would do is smile sadly. Aziraphale would walk to death with dignity, even knowing it was wrong. At least he hoped so because after Gabriel blathers on and added his own two cents to justify condemning Aziraphale the demon arrives with the Hellfire. Crowley didn't recognize them, probably for the best. It was just some low level, no-name, likely in case a demon couldn't survive a trip to heaven. Best to limit potential losses. It took everything in Corwley's considerable power to not laugh at the thought of Beelzebub walking into heaven to deliver Hellfire. Though they would likely love to be present for the execution of an angel. The same way one might love roadkill on a hot day.

The Hellfire is thrown into the circle of stone and forms itself into a swirling vortex at the whim of the demon delivering it. Crowley tries to remain impassive and simply regard the flames as if they were a particularly boring book. He tries to steady the shaking of his hands as visions of a burning bookshop flood his mind. Aziraphale couldn't show he was fighting back tears as though he could still smell burning paper. Aziraphale didn't see a burning bookshop. He didn't feel soot in his eyes or water under his hands. Crowley takes a deep breath and digs his nails into borrowed palms. He has to keep it together, just long enough to get a guarantee of safety for Aziraphale. 

He pushes the thoughts back and stuffs them somewhere else to maybe revisit at a later date. Maybe. He was good at ignoring his problems until they either went away or grew too big for him to comfortably side eye anymore and he was a professional at putting Aziraphale before himself. If he couldn't do it to save his angels life than what good was he.

Uriel rips the weak ties off his wrists, more symbolic than anything, and Gabriel orders Aziraphale into the fire. The archangel gives some nonsense about making an example of him, as if Aziraphale had done anything wrong by loving humanity. That was the one rule Crowley was sure She had made. She wanted her angels to love the humans and here was Gabriel, about to execute someone for following Her orders. 

There isn't even a trial. Hell would have one just for the drama of it all. Heaven apparently carts you off to an overly bright room and just does away with you. They simply fill the room with the stink of smoke and brimstone and expect their disobedient soldier to walk into his own death. He ignores the smoke and ignores the rising feels of a memory on the M25. His Bently isn't here but his angel is and he has to be as well. He can crawl into the bottom of a bottle later.

Crowley straightens a bow tie he had ironically thought he'd rather be dead than caught wearing and took a step towards the flames. If that step wavers and his mask drops as he nears the heat of the flame no one notices. Aziraphale faces his executioners with all the grace afforded to an angel of the Lord and wishes them well even as they await his utter destruction.

"Shut your stupid mouth and die already." 

Gabriel says it with a smile. Not a nice one granted but he smiles at the thought of Aziraphale dying. Crowley hardens his gaze and doesn't think about Aziraphale standing over him with his flaming sword held high. Instead he holds himself with that same poise and takes his first step into the Hellfire. 

It should feel like coming home. Comfortable and rejuvenating for any demon. But Crowley has too much experience with fire over these last few days for it to be anything but horrifying. The heat pickles his skin the same way it did that day. He can see flashes of burning parchment in the flickers between stunned archangel faces. There's a scent of charred leather stuck in the back of his throat and a bolt of fear down his spine that never makes it to his face. He is sure he is shaking now but the fire disorts him as much as it does the stupid gaping face of Gabriel. 

So instead he rolls with the punches, the same way he always has, and squares his shoulders so he can really crack his neck. Intimidation is key and he had never lost that game before. He refuses to start now. Crowley glares through the flames and lets the Hellfire work its way into his system. It thumps through his, technically useless, veins and burns with every beat of his equally useless heart. He chose to let his heart beat just as he chooses to let the Hellfire work for him. It would do its job and scare off the unwanted angels anyway. 

Letting go and feeling Aziraphale relax, Crowley made eye contact with Gabriel and spat out that same Hellfire that had been building inside him. It was as reflexive as spitting venom and no less satisfying. If anything it was more so, as he has never had the chance to spit his venom at anything as proud as an archangel and watching them curry back in fear like the prey they thought themselves above was worth the memories of a burning bookshop. 

He steps out of the fire as easily as he stepped in and quietly clasps his hands in front of him to stop the shaking.

"Now, as fun as that was, it think it would be best if I was left alone going forward. Would that be agreeable," Crowley phrases it as a question only because that is what Aziraphale would do. Everyone in the room however hears the veiled threat and agrees.

"Splendid."


End file.
